


Socks

by orphan_account



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Hawaii Five-0 (2010) RPF
Genre: M/M, Socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fic concerning a rumour regarding socks...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socks

**Author's Note:**

> This is hastily written, short and without a beta, so feel free to point out mistakes. Also, the title is probably temporary, so if anyone thinks of something absurdly witty, be sure to let me know.
> 
> This is also for casthebadass over on tumblr, simply for her undying enthusiasm for these two.
> 
> I own nothing, etc.  
> I mean no offence to anyone, etc.

_“Shit_.” Scott wakes up to the sound of Alex’s foul language with a groan, eyes snapping open a hell of a lot quicker than they usually do, head rolling over as his hand searches out the warmth of the body that should be beside him. He hasn’t had nearly enough sleep and he could _really_ do with all six-foot-one of his boyfriend back in the bed, running hot as ever but not bad to curl up against anyway.

“ _Shit_ ,” the word comes again, and it’s further away this time, drawing Scott’s gaze to the other side of the room. Alex stands bolt upright, spraying a can of deodorant as he widens his eyes at Scott, just a little too amused for the guy to have a leg to stand on when it comes to denying his affection for Sleepy-Scotty. “We need to get up, Scott.” He looks down at his watch pointedly as he slides it onto his wrist. “Seriously, we’ve got thirty minutes.”

The urgency in Alex’s eyes alone is enough to persuade Scott to lift his head now, gaze landing on the alarm clock by the bed that -- _fuck!_ \-- should have gone off half an hour ago. They are, indeed, late for the CBS conference, which coupled with their less than stellar appearance, is unlikely to make for satisfaction among the suits at the network -- Scott’s excuse is _No Way Around But Through_ , but Alex doesn’t have anything quite so convenient.

“Oh, crap,” Scott mumbles, reluctantly disentangling himself from the sheets as he takes less time than he’d like to run his eyes up and down the giant before him, all lean muscle and, frankly, adorable bed hair. The look Alex is giving him says Scott must look almost -- probably a hell of a lot more -- ridiculous than the subject of his attention.

He snaps out of it quickly with a smirk, pulls on a pair of grey chinos and swiftly buttons and zips. Alex is making too much noise behind him as Scott continues, dragging a tee over his head and pulling a black jumper from the drawer before pushing his arms through the sleeves.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Scott asks. Alex is down on all fours, black shirt still unbuttoned over his dress pants in an outfit that just screams James Bond -- _don’t mention it Scott, no time for an irritable recounting of_ that _audition_ \-- if not for the light beard now covering his jaw, not that it doesn’t suit him. _Lucky bastard_. Scott’s not sure he can say the same for himself, but he’s not about to surrender the freedom of choosing what he looks like until he’s forced to shave for filming.

Alex looks up at him over the bed, all wide-eyed and innocent and too freaking adorable for his own good.

“Socks! You seen my socks?” Scott stifles the laugh, because it really _is_ a little laughable; witnessing the sometimes stark contrast between Alex and Steve McGarrett.

“What? You managed to bring your shirt and pants for today, but no fucking socks?”

“Christ, no, I didn’t bring any socks! I thought that much was made obvious by the way I’m crawling around looking for them.”

Scott sighs, drags a pair of shoes out from beneath the bed that he’s hoping will help him look presentable while standing next to GQ’s finest over there. He throws a hand in the general direction of the dresser over the other side of the room. “Just take a pair of mine.”

Alex stops what he’s doing, the sound of his movements ceasing and leaving the room quiet for a moment. “Are you kidding? I’m size _eleven_ , you remember that, right?” If they had the time for it, Alex would follow that up with an needless observation of Scott’s height, and would be thanked for his troubles with a snappy, witty retort that would most likely lead to something unnecessarily dirty.

“Who gives a fuck, Alex? Just take the socks, or go sockless, I don’t care.”

He goes back to his own issues, ties the laces and hears the movements behind him start up again, drawer opening as Scott just smiles and shakes his head in affectionate exasperation.

Scott rushes through to the bathroom, grabs a toothpaste loaded brush and then comes back out to find Alex finally pulling on a pair of socks -- his favourite pair, actually -- and grimacing with the size as he toe hits the end. They’re blue and black, and if Scott remembers correctly, stolen ( _borrowed_ ) from the wardrobe department.

Scott lets out a short-lived laugh and returns to the bathroom to spit, Alex joining him a few seconds later.

“You ready?” Alex asks. They’re clothed and decent about five minutes after having woken, stood face to face at the front door to Scott’s place, looking each other over to avoid any embarrassing wardrobe mishaps, because Scott has _been_ there.

“Yeah. Look okay?”

Alex grins, and Scott just knows he’s biting back something that will only result in them falling back into bed “You’ll do.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Alex turns the handle of the door, and Scott wraps a hand around his wrist, stilling it and smiling like the idiot he so often is in the goof’s company.

Alex meets his gaze with a knowing smile, cups his free hand around Scott’s neck and leans down into a kiss. It’s too soft, too chaste, and over too quickly for either of them to be left completely satisfied, not least because they’re going to spend all day trying to keep their hands off of each other; but it’s all they’ve got time for. And even though it’s not _quite_ satisfying, it kind of is, too. Because it’s something a little habitual, a physical sign that this thing they’re settling into between the two of them is good and real. Not short of passion -- Scott’s still got the bruise, courtesy of Alex, on his shoulder to prove it -- but not short of normality, either.

Scott stalls as they pull away, briefly knocks the bottom of Alex’s chin with a loosely coiled knuckle.

“You really gotta start leaving a few things here, babe. I’ll clear out a drawer or something, make space in the wardrobe.” They’ll be back in Hawaii in a month or so, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a few things lying around here as well.

Alex nods against his forehead, and Scott can feel the familiar crease in the skin as he smiles. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good, let’s go.” Scott pats Alex’s ass as he opens the door, and follows him out with a wide smile gracing his lips.

The day ends up to be a little tiresome, a little dreary, and then Alex sits down and crosses his legs, and Scott averts his gaze with a knowing smile. A knowing smile that says, while they won’t necessarily realize it, anyone who finds their way to that photo being snapped by the overzealous crew, will be looking at a concrete reminder that Alex is _his_.

Scott knows he’s getting ahead of himself here, has to remind himself that it’s nothing more than a pair of socks. To be honest, he doubts anyone will notice.


End file.
